


On The Natural Progression of Rut in the Single Alpha Male

by raiining



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Marking, alpha!Phil, omega!Clint, pre-negotiated kinks, unwanted sexual advances (not c/c)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil’s not-so-secret crush is reaching inappropriate levels.  Clint is a gorgeous, smart, funny omega who could crook his littlest finger and have every alpha on base dancing to his tune.  Probably half the omegas and a good third of the betas, too.  Clint’s never participated in dominance games before, but he’s the unacknowledged leader of the unofficial pack.</p>
<p>And Phil is... Phil.  He’s Nick Fury’s sidekick, the quiet alpha in a suit.  He’s good at his job, competent, dedicated… but he isn’t flashy.  He’s average.  Ordinary.  </p>
<p>Clint’s not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Natural Progression of Rut in the Single Alpha Male

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdamantSteve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdamantSteve/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Unusual Mating Habits of SHIELD Agents and their Handlers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/575411) by [shinykari (meinterrupted)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari). 



> For AdamantSteve who wanted top!Clint, taming-of-the-Clint!, and d/s verse. I didn’t quite do any of those, but I managed to mash it all together in an a/b/o verse. Kind of. I hope you like it!
> 
> Please note, the warning for unwanted sexual advances (not c/c) is because one character threatens another character with dub-con/non-con. The pre-negotiated kinks warning is because in this world, violence is a part of mating, and is understood and acknowledged (and encouraged) on both sides. That being said, if you didn’t know the background and jumped right into the middle of this fic, it might look like dub-con. 
> 
> If this may be triggering for you or if you want to know exactly what happens before you read, see the end notes :)
> 
> Remember: this is something we do for fun, it shouldn’t be triggering for you. Please always take your own mental health into consideration before you read!
> 
>  
> 
> MASSIVE THANK YOU to the UTTERLY FABULOUS DESERT_NEON for looking this over for me. THANK YOU, BEAUTIFUL!!

It’s nothing.

An itch, that’s all. 

Phil extends his leg, stretching his calf. The movement helps. He rolls his ankle and something deep inside of him relaxes. The relief is only temporary, however. The odd sensation returns the moment Phil stops moving his leg. 

Damn. He must have fallen wrong. The last guard had known more about hand-to-hand combat than Phil had anticipated. He’d still won the fight, but he must have been injured. Nothing serious, he’d climbed into the quinjet just fine after all, but still, something feels off.

“Are you okay, sir?” 

Phil looks up. It’s Clint. Phil would know that voice anywhere. He’s replayed it to himself multiple times at night, despite how inappropriate that is. 

“I’m fine,” Phil says, automatically, but then stops. No matter how much he wants to look good in front of an attractive omega, concealing injuries is never a good idea in the field. “My leg feels tight,” he admits. “I might have sprained something on our way out of the compound.”

Clint’s eyes soften in concern. “Why don’t you sit in the back with Nat? I’ll take over for the pilots and get us back to base faster than they would.”

Phil shakes his head. “It’s nothing serious.”

Clint shrugs. “I like to fly, sir, you know that. It’s no trouble. Sit in the back and rest your leg. I’ll take it from here.”

Phil purses his lips, but Clint’s right. It would be stupid to aggravate an injury, and besides, Phil likes it when Clint flies. The airforce team is perfectly capable, but flying puts a gentle smile on Clint’s face that’s wholly different from the exuberant grin he gets when laughing or the corner-of-his-lips tick he has when he’s sitting in Phil’s office, telling stories.

Phil walks carefully to the back of the quinjet. The movement settles him and, honestly, he doesn’t _feel_ injured. Shaky, maybe, a little stiff - there’s a fine tremor shivering under his skin that worsens when he sits down. Okay, and maybe his heart rate is somewhat elevated and his breathing is quick, but it’s the need to _move_ that eats at him. Phil bounces his knee up and down.

“Sir?” Natasha asks. She’s looking at his leg.

“I’m sorry,” Phil apologizes. He stills himself with effort. “It must be the adrenalin wearing off.”

Natasha hums thoughtfully. “It _was_ a fast op.”

“Too fast, maybe.” They’d all been hoping for a quiet day to catch up on paperwork, and Phil has no problem admitting he’d been looking forward to that. Clint and Natasha had mentioned maybe coming by his office to drop off their reports, and Phil had planned on having coffee ready for them. It’s not only an alpha’s urge to please - he genuinely _likes_ Clint and Natasha, and enjoys spending time with them. 

Unfortunately for his plans, Intelligence had gotten a lead on a new AIM base being set up in Columbia. Strike Team Delta had been tasked with taking them out before their security protocols could be engaged. They’d gone in two hours after being debriefed and had fought hard for forty-five minutes without pause. Phil can still feel the sweat cooling on his skin.

“We secured the servers, sustained no injuries, and managed to get the drop on the bad guys for once,” Natasha reminds him. “It’s normal to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop, but I think this one qualifies as a success, sir.”

“I think you’re right,” Phil admits. He knee threatens to start bouncing again, but he stops it. He just has to remind himself that the action is done. “Clint’s taking over the controls. We should be back in New York within the hour.”

Natasha arches an eyebrow at him. It takes Phil a minute to realize why.

“I mean, Barton. Sorry.” He never refers to Clint by his first name on ops. He must be feeling worse than he thought. “I don’t know where my head is.”

“I could theorize for you,” Natasha teases. 

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Because I’m pretty sure it’s stuck up your ass.” 

Phil rolls his eyes. “I got that, Agent. Thank you.”

She purses her lips, which does nothing to conceal her smile. “You should just suck it up and ask him out already.”

“Natasha,” Phil warns. He likes her, but sometimes betas just don’t understand. Thankfully, Clint has his pilot’s helmet on and is absorbed in his controls. “Drop it.”

She laughs. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, ‘just say’ in the privacy of your own head, please. And while you’re at it, complete your after-action report before we land. It’ll be a short flight, but I have confidence in your abilities.” 

Natasha, because she is twelve and has spent far too much time with Clint, sticks her tongue out at him before reaching for her pad. Phil ignores her and focuses on his own report, completing the familiar fields with ease. 

He wishes it were as simple as asking Clint out for coffee. He wishes there weren’t degrees of dominance and pecking order considerations and all the other things at play that continuously hold him back.

Clint is… Clint. He’s a gorgeous, smart, funny omega who could crook his littlest finger and have every alpha on base dancing to his tune. Probably half the omegas and a good third of the betas, too. Clint’s never participated in dominance games before, but he’s the unacknowledged leader of the unofficial pack.

And Phil is... Phil. He’s Nick Fury’s sidekick, the quiet alpha in a suit. He’s good at his job, competent, dedicated… but he isn’t flashy. He’s average. Ordinary. 

Clint’s not.

The cramp in his leg intensifies. Phil ignores it and focuses on his report. 

As promised, the flight isn’t long. The landing is perfect and Phil only glances up when Natasha stands, coming out of his paperwork fuge to catch the pad she throws at his face.

“I’m done. I’m going to the mess before all the meatloaf is gone.”

“You mean _after_ you swing by Medical for your post-mission check?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Of course, sir. After that.”

“Right,” Phil replies, watching her walk away. Contrary to popular opinion, Natasha is even worse than Clint for skipping out on Medical, ever since she realized that Fury wasn’t going to have her shot if she didn’t toe the line. He understands her poor history with doctors, but they were just in a firefight. They need to be examined.

“Feeling better, sir?”

Phil looks up to see Clint has emerged from the cockpit. The pilot’s helmet has left red lines around the shell of his ear, and even though Phil’s seen those lines before, something extra appealing about them makes him trace them with his eyes today. He wonders if they would feel warm under his hands, how they would taste. 

Mmm, if he were allowed right now, he’d press Clint against the side of the quinjet and hold him there with one hand. He’d use the other hand to trace the path of those faint red lines, and then he’d follow the path down, sliding over the muscled line of Clint’s shoulders, down the length of his spine, until he could press his hand into the curve of Clint’s hip, pushing in hard enough that Clint would feel it, would know that it was _him_. Clint could break the hold, of course, but he wouldn’t because he’d submit to Phil. He’d bend his neck to the side and _yes_ , he’d look so good doing that, open and waiting because he _wanted_ to be filled, wanted Phil, wanted to be mounted because Phil had bested him in fair combat and…

“Sir?”

Phil snaps out of it. His face feels hot and his pants, oh god, his pants feel tight. “I’m sorry. I - ”

Clint looks concerned. “Are you okay?”

Phil’s glad he’s holding his pad in his hands over his lap. “I’m fine.” The humming is back and louder than ever, a simmering need under his skin. It’s almost like - no. Phil hasn’t had a rut in years. Maybe he’s getting sick.

Phil shakes his head and stands, willing his erection away. The quinjet swims dizzily for a moment before it stops. “I’m okay.”

“You don’t look okay,” Clint says. He steps forward into Phil’s space and puts one hand on Phil’s head. “I think you’re warm.”

He might be right. Clint’s hand feels deliciously cool against Phil’s skin. Phil sways towards him. This close, Phil can see every shade of colour in Clint’s eyes. They’re blue and green and gold, a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colour. Clint’s nostrils flare as he unconsciously takes in Phil’s scent. Phil’s seen other omegas do this before. They’re constantly monitoring their environment, scenting out opportunities. It’s a biological drive.

It doesn’t mean anything. Even when Clint’s pupils dilate, Phil knows it’s an unconscious response to an alpha nearby.

Still, Phil still finds himself calculating angles, extrapolating force. He thinks that if he hooked a leg around Clint’s ankle and pushed with his hips, he could shift Clint’s weight onto his other leg. If he did that, Phil could pivot him around, following the turn with a lock-grip on Clint’s forearm. Phil would then be in the perfect position to bend Clint over the controls and slot his own hardening cock into the perfect crease of Clint’s ass. He’d be able to feel Clint’s glute muscles clench through the thin fabric of his tac suit and then he’d press, ever so relentlessly, forward, and Clint would widen his stance and -

“That’s it, you’re going to Medical.”

Phil blinks. He’s surprised to find he’s been leaning forward, pushing himself even further into Clint’s space.

“Sure,” Phil says, dazedly, willing to do anything Clint asks. “Medical. Okay.” 

“Something’s wrong with you,” Clint says. His tone is flat and concerned. The worry in it cuts through the fog surrounding Phil’s thoughts and drags him back to the present. 

Medical. Right. Because Clint is correct, something _is_ wrong. Phil’s not thinking clearly. The shiver under his skin is growing louder. The urge to move, to chase, is growing stronger.

To fight. To fuck.

_No._

“Medical,” Phil agrees, pulling away. He needs to go. This can’t be happening. He can’t... it shouldn’t… it’s been too long... “Grab your gear, I’ll meet you there.” He turns without waiting for a reply. 

“Hey!” Clint calls to his back. “Wait!”

Phil shakes his head, concentrating only on moving. He can’t look at Clint right now, can’t glance back at him without thinking about how he’d fight him, how he’d mount him. His fast clip brings fresh air to his nose and Phil inhales deeply, washing away the lingering scent of Clint’s skin. 

His head clears. Phil grips his pad tighter and hurries to Medical. He has to get himself behind closed doors and quickly, he’s a danger to himself and others right now. 

He’s in rut.

Phil recognizes the sensation, the need growing in the pit of his belly, the intoxicating rush of biological chemicals running through his veins. It’s been years since his last season but the feeling is now unmistakable. He doesn’t know what might have triggered it, but something obviously has. There’s no stopping it now.

The hallways of Headquarters aren’t crowded, but they aren’t empty, either. Heads turn as he walks by. Phil wonders if they can smell the change on him, if it’s come to that. He wonders if Clint had been able to tell. The thought makes him burn. The last thing he wants to do is to declare his hopeless crush to Clint and the world.

Phil picks up his pace. If he’s putting out a smell, that means the rut’s coming on quick. That could get dangerous fast. There’s a reason alphas in rut are sequestered. The pheromones he’s putting out could cause a pack fight, leading to a challenge for dominance among the omega population on base.

Not that Phil thinks he’s noteworthy enough to trigger a stampede. That being said, he _is_ a senior agent. Any omega he bonds to, even temporarily, would be significantly elevated in status. 

He just needs to get to Medical. There are pheromonal antagonists and scent dampeners, the two things that will allow him to make a stealthy exit out the back door. He can go home and hole up in his apartment, get out his punching bag and weights. The energy of the rut will take a week to burn off, but he can do it. 

He’s done it before.

Phil’s hands are shaking as he turns the final corner towards Medical. He can see the safety of its walls, but before he makes it, an omega steps into his path.

“Good afternoon, sir. Where are you going?”

Phil grits his teeth. “Agent Rumlow. Step aside, please, I’m on my way to Medical.”

Rumlow actually purrs. Phil’s never liked the man, but he actively hates him now. Especially because the rut makes him smell so sweet.

“Why would you want to go to Medical, Coulson? You’re good. You’re _so_ good. You don’t need anything those quacks might give you.”

“You are, of course, entitled to your opinion. Now step aside.”

Rumlow ignores him, instead walking forward. He looks Phil in the eye. “You don’t want me to step aside.”

Phil tries holding his breath to avoid the intoxicating smell of an interested omega, but the staccato beating of his heart makes oxygen a necessity. “Yes, I do. Move now before I file a sexual harassment complaint.”

Rumlow slides closer. “You won’t.”

Phil clenches his jaw. He wants to push Rumlow away, but he’s afraid that if he gets his hands on the man, he’s going to fight him instead. Against his own desires, Phil knows he’s suddenly, achingly, hard. “I will.”

Rumlow actually chuckles. “No, you won’t, because in five seconds, you’re going to be pinning me against the wall and rutting against my ass. You’ll be demanding that I bow my head and submit to you, but sir,” he leans forward and whispers into Phil’s ear, “you’re going to have to work for it.”

Phil groans. He doesn’t want to but, fuck, he _knows_ how good it would feel to do exactly that. It would be so satisfying to punch Rumlow in the face and fight him. He’s always wanted to hit the man, and Rumlow’s good in the ring. He’d prove a challenging fight, dancing backwards out of Phil’s reach and then striding forward again.

Phil would win, of course, in part because he’s the better fighter but also because Rumlow would let him. It wouldn’t end there, though. Not during the rut. Rumlow would submit to him and that would mean that his ass was Phil’s and Phil would _take_ it. 

He’d use it and then, when the rut ended and his mind cleared, Phil would hate himself for it. Rumlow would crow like a cock and Phil would have to endure it. Any sexual harassment suit he filed would be complicated by the fact that Phil had given in to his baser instincts and fucked him, and dammit, but he _hates_ this, hates feeling so out of control.

Phil doesn’t even realize that he’s shaking. Rumlow is leaning against his chest and his hand is on Phil’s arm. Phil wants to push him away but that’s what Rumlow is waiting for, that’s what he wants...

Phil’s nose only gives him a second’s warning before Rumlow is being torn off Phil’s chest and thrown into the wall. He manages to get a hand out in front of him and brace himself so he bounces off the drywall and spins, bringing his fists up into a defensive position with his weight evenly distributed on both feet. “What the _fuck_?”

Clint Barton growls; a deep, low, possessive sound that run like electricity up Phil’s spine. “Leave him alone.”

Phil can only blink in shock.

Clint takes a step closer, actually placing himself between Phil and Rumlow. “I said, _back off_.” 

Rumlow bares his teeth. “Are you going to offer yourself to him? You’ll have to go through me first.”

Clint grins, murder on his face. “With pleasure.”

Phil gapes. “No,” he says. “You don’t have to -” But before he can do anything, Clint attacks. 

It’s a hard hit, designed to put Rumlow down. Unfortunately, Rumlow is a professional fighter both in and out of the ring. He has years of experience at S.H.I.E.L.D., is a level five agent, and is on the fast track for advancement. He dodges. He drops down into a crouch and lets the hit pass over his head, then grabs Clint’s arm and twists it. Clint winces and Rumlow crows. Phil feels sick.

Clint grins.

He goes lax and Rumlow over-balances. Clint pushes _into_ Rumlow’s grip and then strikes, wrapping one leg around his knee and twisting, pulling him around. Rumlow’s weight shifts onto his front knee and Clint attacks, delivering a sharp, brutal kick to the side of his leg and hitting him with his unoccupied hand.

Rumlow grunts in pain and lets go of Clint’s arm to shield his face. Clint delivers a dizzying series of strikes that leaves Rumlow’s nose bloody despite the protection before bouncing back. Rumlow growls. He touches his face and the blood pouring from his nose, then shifts his shoulders and springs.

The fight is on.

Phil can only watch as the two omegas whirl, pivot, and strike. Rumlow throws in a kick and Clint steps into the blow, spinning on his front leg to come up under Rumlow’s guard. He hits once, twice, and then three times. When he steps back, Clint’s balanced on two feet and Rumlow’s limping on one.

He’s _playing_ with him!

“Come on,” Clint taunts. “Teach me a lesson, Brock. You know you want to.”

Rumlow grits his teeth. His next attack is sloppy, too much power and not enough thought. He throws himself off balance and Clint takes advantage, catching Rumlow’s fist and dragging him into Clint’s space. 

“That time in Sarajevo,” Clint goes on. “Three, four years ago now. You wanted to hit me then, didn’t you? I saw it in your eyes. Come on, then. _Hit me_.”

Phil narrows his eyes. He’s always suspected that Rumlow had tried to push Clint into place, but he’s never had confirmation before.

“You’re such a strong, powerful omega. So top-of-the-food-chain important. Get off your lazy ass and hit me, Rumlow. Hit me like you want to.”

Rumlow attacks. He wrenches his hand out of Clint’s grip and throws himself forward, punching at Clint’s chest, sternum, flank. Clint blocks the blows but Rumlow manages to get in close enough to hook Clint’s leg and drag him off balance, preventing Clint from getting away.

“I _am_ going to hit you, Barton,” Rumlow growls. “I’m going to beat you into a bloody pulp and then I’m going to take your boyfriend. I’m going to offer my ass to him and and he’s going to fuck me, and you’re going to sit in Medical and _know_ that’s what’s happening and that you _lost_.”

This is all a dominance fight, Phil realizes. Rumlow’s not in it for him at all.

Clint stops resisting. Phil stomach drops into his boots, but then he sees that the sudden lack of tension has thrown Rumlow off balance. Clint leans forward and hisses into his ear, just loud enough that Phil can hear. “Never going to happen.”

And then he twists his head to one side, ducking his chin to protect his neck and striking at Rumlow’s face while dropping into a crouch. Rumlow pulls backwards out of his reach and releases Clint’s leg to kick, striking out at Clint’s face. 

Clint spins into the strike, ducking his head so Rumlow’s leg flies over his shoulder and then catching Rumlow’s thigh with his hands. He straightens from his crouch with a burst of power and Rumlow goes flying. He’s flung into the air, hangs weightless for a moment, and then falls to the ground with a crunch. He’s hit the floor flat on his back. He coughs. He’s stunned, Phil realizes. He’s had his breath knocked out of him. 

Clint drops his leg and spins, planting his foot over Rumlow’s neck, grinding his combat boot into Rumlow’s throat. “Acknowledge me.”

Rumlow clenches his jaw and tries to sit up, so Clint pushes back down. “Acknowledge me!”

“All right, all _right!_ ” Rumlow looks like he’d rather chew glass. “I acknowledge you!”

“Fucking right you do,” Clint growls, and kicks Rumlow in the nuts. Rumlow howls and cups his balls, curling over onto his side. Clint turns his back on him, a gesture of contempt. “Now run away and lick your wounds, and don’t even _look_ Phil Coulson in the face again. He’s mine.”

“He’s yours,” Rumlow agrees, scrambling away. He hobbles down the corridor without a backwards glance. “I acknowledge it.”

Clint glances around the hallway and glares. “Anyone else?”

Phil startles. He’d been so focused on the fight, he hadn’t realized the corridor had filled. There are a dozen or so omegas scattered around, agents and senior staff both, competent men and women who might consider themselves top of the pack. Every one of them bow their heads when Clint looks their way, focusing on their feet instead of meeting his eyes. 

“That’s what I thought,” Clint spits. “Now go away.”

The omegas scatter. Phil doesn’t bother watching them leave. He’s focused on Clint.

Clint waits until the corridor is empty, but the moment they’re alone, his shoulders slump. “Phil.”

_“Clint,”_ he breathes. The need for him is burning a hole through Phil’s veins.

Clint closes his eyes, sucking in air through his nose. His brow is sweaty and his cheeks are flushed. He’s the most beautiful thing Phil’s ever seen. 

“If you don’t want this, you need to go.”

“I - what?”

Clint’s shoulders tighten. “Phil, please. Any minute now I’m going to lose what control I have left and I’m going to run, and I know that if I do that, you’re going to chase me. So I’m going to stand here and wait, okay? If you - if you aren’t here when I open my eyes, then that’s okay.”

Phil doesn’t understand. Clint just _fought_ for him, asserted his pack dominance for him, and now - “You don’t want me?”

Clint’s eyes blaze open. Their gazes lock. “I want you so much it fucking _hurts_ , sir, but I’m not going to be like that dick, Rumlow. I’m not going to force you. If I play to your baser instincts and make you chase me… I’d never forgive myself. I want more than a season with you, Phil. I want - _fuck_. If you fight me, I want you to _mean_ it.”

_“Clint,”_ Phil gasps, and oh god, his name tastes so good on his tongue, “I have never wanted anyone, or anything, more in my _life_.”

Clint inhales. “Please, don’t let that be the rut talking.”

Phil growls. Clint’s poised with weight on the balls of his feet, muscles tense like he’s ready to run. He’s just taken down another omega in a fight, in a fight over _Phil_. Phil can feel his heartbeat quicken, the rush of adrenalin and hormones and _rightness_ in his veins. “It’s not. I’ve wanted -” He makes himself stop and get this out, because he has everything he’s ever wanted on a plate in front of him, and he’s not going to fuck it up.

“I never thought you’d fight anyone for me. I never thought I’d be of any interest to you. You’re perfect. You’re smart and funny and I want to hold you down and fuck you, Clint. I’m _going_ to. You’ll never belong to anyone else ever again. If you run, I’m going to _Claim_ you.”

Clint’s eyes widen and his breath quickens. They stare at each other in hungry anticipation, and then Clint grins. It’s the same shit-eating don’t-you-want-to-make-me-take-it full spirited perversion that Phil has chased in his dreams. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

And then he runs.

Phil grins, wild and free, and launches himself after him. 

 

*

 

The Chase isn’t easy. 

Phil had known it wouldn’t be, which is half the fun. They run the length and breadth of S.H.I.E.L.D., dropping in and out of offices, vaulting over desks and scattering paperwork. Clint’s quick and agile, spirited like he’s taking Phil’s promise to heart. He knows the ventilation system better than anyone in the organization and he’s not afraid to fight dirty. 

Phil isn’t, either. He uses his pad to activate Clint’s tracker and follows him through the blueprints he downloads from the S.H.I.E.L.D. server. Technically, the schematics are available in case of invasion or attack, but Phil feels no guilt in using them now.

Clint clues in to what Phil is doing when Phil manages to corner him in a conference room on the third floor. He curses and launches himself at Phil, aiming a distracting punch to Phil’s head before ducking and twisting enough that he can skirt between him and the door. 

Phil blocks the punch and loses Clint. By the time he regains his balance and chases after him, Clint’s long gone. His tracker cuts out a few minutes later. Phil taps his screen while he runs and realizes that Clint has locked down his access to ‘mission sensitive only,’ which means Phil will break six different regulations if he tries to narrow in on the frequency again.

He considers doing it anyway, but drops his pad instead. It’s becoming harder and harder to _think_. Reading blueprints is soon going to be beyond him. The hormones raging through his bloodstream are pushing him to caveman-levels of _chase, fight, take_ and following Clint’s tracker isn’t going to be an option five minutes from now. 

Giving in to his baser instincts, Phil ditches his jacket and loosens his tie. He stops in the middle of the hallway and just _breathes_. A flood of information pours into him. Other omegas, the beta who passed this way three minutes ago, the lingering smell of an alpha Phil knows and discards as not a threat. The rut enhances his sense of smell, giving him the advantage in the age-old tradition of the Chase. 

Phil searches for Clint’s scent and finds it. It’s like a siren call, cutting through the lingering haze of other people and pulling Phil forward. That’s what the dominance display had been for, to cement Clint’s position as the only omega of any consequence in the building. Others will be scenting the air now and realizing that a Chase is under way. Word of Clint’s dominance will already be spreading. No one will interfere. 

The fight has also triggered Clint’s adrenalin. The longer he runs, the more he’s going to enter the pre-heat stage, the chemical tipping point between giving in to Phil’s rut and entering heat, or escaping Phil’s advances. If he escapes, his body will return to normal by tomorrow morning. 

That’s why Phil has to catch him. He has to get close and fight him, saturate the air around Clint with his own pheromones and prove to the omega that _he_ is worthy of mating, that _he_ is the alpha who can give him what he needs. 

Phil inhales Clint’s scent and starts moving, following his nose to where Clint is hiding in the ventilation equipment on the fifth floor. The fan blows Clint’s scent intoxicatingly around, saturating the hallway with his smell but obscuring his position. Phil strains his eyes but counters only a split-second before Clint appears, a ferocious punch aimed squarely at Phil’s eyes.

Phil grins, because Clint isn’t holding back. He blocks the hit and the two more that follow it, then steps forward and swipes his leg at the back of Clint’s knees. He goes down and Phil jumps him, dipping his head into the scent pocket between Clint’s neck and shoulder and getting one full, delicious, _intoxicating_ inhale, before Clint jabs him in the kidneys and rolls to his feet. 

He grins at Phil, the devil dancing behind his eyes. “Come and catch me, sir!”

Phil attacks. Clint laughs and dances out of the way. He turns tail and runs, heading back down the corridor, Phil hot on his heels.

The rut takes over his mind, eliminating his sense of control, and Phil is conscious of nothing but Clint as he chases him down the hall. They turn left, right, and maybe left again. Clint avoids the ventilation shafts and just runs, his scent a seduction that spurs Phil on.

Eventually, Clint slaps a wall panel and opens a door, diving into a room. Phil follows blindly after him, ducking the instant he crosses the threshold and avoiding the blow Clint’s aimed at his throat. He bounces up quickly, grabbing Clint’s arm and spinning him around. The door has closed behind him and Phil throws Clint into it, slotting himself behind Clint and fitting his aching cock into the beautiful crease of Clint’s waiting ass.

Clint groans and pushes back, grinding himself into Phil’s groin. The friction feels incredible, but Clint’s shoulders are still tense. Phil knows the fight isn’t over. He’s ready when Clint pushes him away and spins.

Phil lets him complete the turn before catching the punch Clint aims at his ribs and pushing him back against the door, pinning his arm above his head. Clint moans. He tries a jab with his left hand but Phil blocks it. They grapple for a minute before Phil finally secures Clint’s wrist. He slams it back against the door, mirroring the position of his right. 

Clint tries for a knee-kick and Phil steps into his guard, fitting his hips against the sweet, seductive cushion made of Clint’s thighs. He dips his head forward and inhales Clint’s scent, tipping his nose into the sweat-filled gap between Clint’s shoulder and neck.

His smell is incredible, musky and hot. Phil takes in a lungful and when that’s not enough he opens his mouth and pants. 

Clint’s putting out pheromones, now. His scent isn’t just the sweat-drenched musk of a powerful omega, but the need-tinged cry of an omega entering heat. Phil groans and licks a broad swipe up his skin. Clint gasps and buckles in Phil’s arms.

Phil holds him against the door effortlessly, his muscles alive with adrenalin and the rut. Their groins rub together and they both groan. Clint’s dick is rock hard but Phil knows his ass will feel sweeter, all slick-soaked and ready for his aching hot cock.

He needs to feel it. Phil pulls Clint’s arms together over his head and grasps both wrists in one hand, freeing the other to run a palm up Clint’s side. Clint arches into the touch, panting as Phil strokes him. 

Phil circles his hand around to Clint’s lower back, dipping his fingers into the natural curve between the wall and Clint’s spine. “Are you wet?” he asks, reaching down to grip Clint’s ass and pull it towards him, grinding him into Phil’s hips. “Are you ready for me?”

Clint moans but doesn’t reply. His eyes are closed and his lashes are fluttering. Phil stares at him hungrily, needing to see, needing to hear. He digs his fingers into Clint’s ass, kneading the muscle he can feel under the stretchy material of his tac suit. “Talk to me.”

“M-make me,” Clint stutters. 

Phil growls and flips him over, knocking him face-first against the immobile pressure of the wall. Phil grinds his cock into Clint’s ass, gripping his dick with the hand left between Clint and the door. “Submit to me!”

“Yes,” Clint groans, dropping his head to one side. “Oh, yes. God. _Phil_!”

Phil groans in full appreciation of the sight. It’s everything he’s ever dreamed of and more. Leaning forward, he licks a broad stripe up Clint’s skin and then noses away his t-shirt and fastens his teeth on the smooth muscle of his shoulder. With a strong, hard grip, he bites him. 

Clint gasps, rocking back in his arms. Phil soothes him with sucks and kisses, biting and nipping at his skin, working a bruise that will look livid when Phil’s done.

“Mine,” he whispers, pulling Clint closer and nuzzling his skin. “Mine, mine, mine. Never going to let you go.”

“Phil,” Clint exhales, going lax in his arms. “Phil, yes, _please_.”

“I’m going to take such good care of you. You’ll never have to ask for anything ever again, never going to want. I’m going to give you everything you need, Clint. I’m going to make everything okay.”

Clint starts to shudder. “ _Phil_. I need you so _bad_.”

He’s in full on heat now, an intoxicating array of pheromones shimmering off his skin. Phil closes his eyes and inhales, feeling his own rut shift in response to Clint’s heat. 

“Yes,” Phil answers, leading Clint as if in a daze away from the door. He doesn’t know where they are, knows only that Clint has led him here, has chosen this place, and that means that it’s safe. There’s a bed, Phil can see that, and that’s enough. He’d use the floor if he had to, but he needs to take care of his omega now.

Phil leads Clint to the bed, holding him close, then lays him down and strips him with the efficiency of hundreds of ops, of watching Clint unbuckle his tac suit thousands of times. 

“Phil!” Clint gasps, shivering as the cool air hits his skin. “Please!”

“Shh,” Phil soothes, running a hand up his side. He parts from Clint only long enough to strip out of his own clothes, dropping them in a heap onto the floor before crawling into bed. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“Need you,” Clint breathes, his eyes glazed. 

Phil dips a hand between Clint’s cheeks and feels the slick-slippery wetness there. He groans at how good it feels, and then again a second later when the scent-laden smell of it hits his nose. “Fuck, _yes_.”

He leans down and kisses Clint, who opens his mouth invitingly, groaning as Phil sucks at his tongue. Phil strokes him all over, his hips, his sides, his thighs, but returns again and again to that slick-drenched ass. He presses in with one finger, groaning as Clint accepts him eagerly, lifting his hips for Phil to push deeper inside. “You feel so _good_.”

Clint pants. “Now,” he begs. “Now, now, now!”

Phl gives in and turns Clint over, rolling him onto his front. Clint scrambles onto his hands and knees and displays himself, offering his ass imploringly into the air. Phil can’t resist leaning down and licking it, swiping his tongue over the leaking expanse of Clint’s hole.

Clint’s ass twitches and he groans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck _you_ , you _tease_.”

Phil chuckles. “Takes one to know one. You certainly didn’t hold back during our Chase.”

“Needed to know you were serious,” Clint gasps, shuddering when Phil thrusts his tongue inside of him. “Needed to know this was real.”

“So real,” Phil promises him, pushing up to cover Clint’s back with his body and kiss the bruise already livid on his skin. “This is happening. You’re mine. I have no idea why you offered yourself to me, but I am not going to waste the opportunity to have you.”

“Fuck, really? I thought I was being so obvious. Do you have any idea how many meetings I’ve had to lag behind after, to give myself a chance to calm down before standing? You get me so worked up just by standing there and talking. Always in your perfect suits.” He gasps when Phil gives in and bites Clint’s bruise. “ _Fuck_. I - I always wanted to know what it would take to make you chase me. To see you break.”

Phil trails kisses down the back of Clint’s spine. “All it took was you offering yourself to me. Asserting your dominance… you looked so hot standing there, growling at the other omegas to get away.”

“Would have fought the entire base for you, Phil. Would have - ” He groans as Phil tongues him again.

“You did. You fought them and I chased you and I _won_ you and now you are _mine_!”

With that, Phil leans back and lines himself up, pushing forward to sink into Clint’s body with a chest-rattling groan. 

“ _Phil_ ” Clint breathes, pushing his ass back onto Phil’s cock. “Oh, god, yes, _please_.”

“Wait, let me - ” Phil grips Clint’s hips and holds still for a second, willing himself not to come just yet. “Fuck, you feel so _good_.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Clint chants, rocking back and forth on Phil’s cock. “I need it, Phil, I need it, please!”

“I will,” Phil promises, finding a clear moment of control within the raging storm of hormones. He shifts forward, his cock surrounded by Clint’s wet heat. “Yes, _fuck_ , I will.”

“Phil,” Clint moans as Phil begins to fuck him in earnest. He shudders in Phil’s hands, his hips gyrating back and forth. “Like that, like that, _yes_!”

Phil pants and loses himself completely, pushing into Clint as if he’s trying to bury himself in his ass. Despite his effort of control, he can feel his orgasm building in the distance. It’s a growing wave, edging closer and threatening to flood him under. “Clint, Clint, Clint!”

“Do it,” Clint slurs, sweat-soaked and needy. “Phil, do it. Give it to me. I want it, please!”

“It’s coming,” Phil tells him, thrusting blindly forward. He can feel his knot building, the wave threatening. “It’s coming, Clint, oh - _fuck_ \- !”

The wave crashes. Phil’s knot expands and he comes, pushing helplessly forward as he plasters himself against Clint’s back, thrusting as deep as he can.

He’s beyond words now, completely spent, his entire focus on the feeling of Clint’s ass clenching and releasing around him, body sucking hungrily at his knot. He can feel himself press on Clint’s inner walls, the tight-hot connection that creates a completeness he’s only felt a few times before.

“Jesus,” Clint slurs, rocking back once before collapsing onto the bed. 

“God,” Phil groans, following him down. His knot ties them close together. “S’good.”

“Mmmm,” Clint agrees. He’s boneless in Phil’s arms, back pressed against Phil’s chest. They breathe together for several minutes, basking in the glow and saturated with happy hormones. Finally, Clint shifts one shoulder. “That’s gonna sting.”

“What?” Phil manages, propping himself up. “Oh.” The bruise he’d worked on Clint’s skin is a deep, brilliant red-purple hue. “Huh.”

Clint chuckles. “Yup.” He hums happily. “Now everyone will know that I Offered myself to you and that you caught me. There’s no getting out of it now.”

Phil kisses around the bruise. “Getting out of it was never my intention.” He inhales the momentarily sated, but still very present, heat-soaked pheromones on Clint’s skin. “That is, if either of us were moving from this bed for the next five to seven days, which we are not.”

Clint grins. “If I’d known your rut was coming, I’d have been more prepared. As it is, I don’t think I have the resources to feed us here for a week. We’re going to have to at least leave to get food.”

“We’ll order it in,” Phil assures him, then blinks and for the first time looks around their surroundings. “Where are we, anyway?”

“My quarters,” Clint says, with a hint of a blush on his face. 

“Oh.” Phil blinks. An omega’s quarters are a private place, carefully sequestered. Clint’s been in Phil’s quarters numerous times, picking up reports or dropping off coffee. Phil’s never been to Clint’s before, though. “They’re nice.”

He’s not lying. Clint’s quarters are small, because they all are, but they aren’t cramped. The bed they’re lying on is in the middle of the room, but there’s room for the desk propped against one wall. Shelves circle the ceiling, crammed with knick-knacks and books. Phil blinks. “Is that the chibi archer doll I bought for you as a gag gift for the Christmas exchange?”

“Yes,” Clint admits, looking over his shoulder to smile. “Are you surprised that I kept it? Did you catch the part where I said I’ve been gone on you for a ridiculously long time?”

Phil smiles and turns back to kiss his shoulder. “I wasn’t quite sure I believed it.”

“Well, you should,” Clint assures him, before shifting more comfortably in Phil’s arms. “Now be quiet and go to sleep. We’ve got a busy couple of days ahead of us.”

“Yes, sir,” Phil says with a grin, resting a hand on Clint’s hip. His knot is still thick and hot between them. “With pleasure.”

 

*

 

“Here’s my report on the Milan mission,” Clint says, dropping into the chair in Phil’s office. “And, uh,” he blushes, “here’s a list I made. Of apartments we should see.” 

Phil grins happily. “Excellent. When do you want to take time off to look?”

“Tomorrow afternoon? I checked your schedule and you’re free.”

Phil hums and glances over the addresses. “Sounds good to me.”

Clint shifts in his chair. “I just don’t want you to expect miracles or anything. I’ve never gone apartment shopping before.”

Phil smiles. “I appreciate that you’re looking.”

“Yeah, well.” Clint rolls his eyes, but Phil can see that he’s happy. “I got myself involved with a traditionalist, after all.”

“I am rather sickeningly old-fashioned.”

“You are,” Clint agrees with a grin, “but I kind of love that about you.”

Phil blushes. He glances back over the list. “The most important thing is that you like it, but I can help you talk through a few things. I’ve never done this much before either, but there were a few years between the Army and S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Is there something particular that you’re looking for?”

Phil shrugs. “I’d like enough space for an office, but really, that’s all I need.”

“Yeah, well, I figure that if we’re getting our own place, we might as make sure there’s a decent kitchen. I know it’s not really typical, but I love to cook.”

“I’m terrible at it, so I plan to encourage that trait.”

Clint smiles, but he still looks nervous. He reaches out to Phil. “You really think we can do this?”

Phil catches his hand and kisses it, pressing his lips to Clint’s palm. “I think that, together, we can do anything.”

Clint grins. “This is why Natasha calls us saps, you know.”

Phil threads their fingers together. “I know. Come on.” He tugs on Clint’s hand, standing up from his desk. “Let’s get out of here and go out for dinner. You can tell me more about the places we’re going to see.”

“Okay.” Clint follows him to the door. “You’re paying, though, right? After all,” he teases, “I’m not an easy thing.”

“Oh, I know,” Phil laughs, pulling him out the door. “I know that, indeed.”

 

~ The End

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, omegas are dominant and the most important part of a mating pair. When an alpha goes into rut, the omegas will fight to see who is the most worthy of the alpha in question. The omega who wins will go to the alpha, whose pheromones will push the omega into heat. The omega and the alpha will then fight to determine if the alpha is strong enough to defend the omega should the omega become pregnant as a result of the rut/heat. If the omega feels the alpha is worthy, they will willingly submit to the alpha. Therefore this world has some heavy dom/sub undertones but is not a d/s AU. 
> 
> In this story, Rumlow (an omega) comes on to Phil (an alpha) when Phil is entering rut. Despite Phil explicitly stating that he is not interested, Rumlow pursues him. Because Phil is in rut, he finds it difficult to say no, even though he very much does not want to mate with Rumlow.
> 
> And then Clint saves the day.
> 
> Of course.
> 
> *g*


End file.
